


we should get a drink sometime

by thefudge



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, basically han and leia, the scoundrel and the warrior princess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is a con man, par excellence, but she can't be fooled. (a series of inter-connected oneshots about my two children)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mask

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of heads up. I have not read the comics, I've only read about Tatsu and George's background but I am mostly basing this off the movie (which I have seen), so don't sue me.   
> This first one-shot takes place right after the movie. Enjoy!

 

She feels really stupid.

Not a feeling she's accustomed to. She's made mistakes in the past, but she paid for them and honored them and made sure never to repeat them. If she ever feels foolish nowadays it's for letting her guard down.

Technically, she's dealing with more _literal_ guards now. She's come to visit him.

She found out from Officer Flag that he's been kept in solitary confinements for weeks. That was the price for sassing Amanda Waller. Privately, Tatsu thinks someone had to tell Agent Waller off for the way she'd handled the mission, but Boomerang could have chosen his words better.

Now she stands in front of his heavily barred cell and listens to him throw a tantrum. He's shouting abuse and demanding to be let out and making a rather ineffectual spectacle of himself. By the look on the guard's face, this has been going on for some time. 

_Typical._

The guard slits open a shaft in the door. Apparently, Tatsu is only allowed to speak to him through that small opening. 

"May we have some privacy?" she asks in her soft English. She almost hates how tentative it sounds. Japanese gives her levity and purpose and rhythm. English is like a vast, ungoverned ocean. 

The guard shrugs and moves out of earshot, but she can still see the uniform behind her.

Tatsu has to stand on her toes to raise her face to the shaft.

"Captain -"

"Katana, _sweetheart_!" he cries out when he sees the white mask at his door. "Thank _God_ , you beautiful angry warrior! You'll get me out of 'ere, won't you?"

She is, as always, flummoxed by his loud presence and unsettled by his mad grin. He looks worse for wear. She's pretty sure he's got a smell too, but he's still his irritable self somehow. 

"I don't have that authority, Captain Boomerang."

His grin wilts for a moment, but he quickly regains his footing. "Ah, call me George, luv. We've been through hell and back, haven't we? We can be familiar."

"I'd rather not," she answers carefully.

"Why ...I'm hurt, Katana. I thought we were chums. Good chums. The best of chums."

Tatsu wrinkles her nose. "Isn't that fish?"

He laughs, tilting his head back and revealing some nasty bruises on his throat and chest. Tatsu feels the urge to reach for her katana, although she does not understand her own instincts. She simply does not like abuses of power. He does not deserve this treatment. Not _quite_.

"Yea', it's fish. But you know what I mean. We're friends. Do a friend a favor and get me out of here."

"I told you, I can't -"

He interrupts her with a brush of his hand. "Sure you can. You could bring this entire place down with just a swoosh of that sword of yours." 

Tatsu looks down at her weapon and feels a blush creep slowly into her cheeks. She's thankful for the mask. Few people compliment her on her deadly skills, they just take them for granted. But he is only trying to get her to do what he wants. She knows this, but she can't follow through to the logical conclusion. Namely, that she should just go. 

"Y'know, luv, I never told this to anyone, but you were always my favorite of the bunch," he says with an inviting wink. 

"Really?" she asks dryly.

"Ya don't believe me, but it's true. When I saw you get on that chopper I felt a funny feeling in my gut, like that girl is going to stick, ya know what I mean?"

"Stick _where_?" she asks disoriented. 

"In here," he points to his chest, and she fights the reflex to roll her eyes. 

"Captain Boomerang -"

"George," he corrects.

"... _George_. I know you do not have feelings for me. I know you are feigning this preference. Do not embarrass yourself further."

He seems a little jolted by her directness. She's never been one to shirk her words. His leer is replaced with an almost genuine smile.

"See, _that's_ why you're my favorite. You never bullshit a bloke."

"Yes. Bullshit is _your_ specialty."

She instantly regrets saying it. She shouldn't respond to his taunts, she should be  _above_ this. But she wants him to know she is not fooled. He _is_ a con man, par excellence. 

He laughs heartily. "Fell right into that one, didn't I? But if you're not here to set me free from this torture chamber...then why _are_ you here?"

She hates how quickly he can switch from mirth to solemnity. She's never sure which is which with him. 

"I came to check on you. To see if things are all right." It's a weak answer and she knows it. But it isn't far from the truth. She is not sure about the truth, either way. 

"See if I'm still alive you mean?"

She winces. "They aren't treating you very well, I know."

"Hohoo, there's the understatement of the year. I hear Croc's got cable in his sewer. _I'd_ live in a sewer just for a tooth brush."

"You would," she confirms, half-question, half-statement.

"Well, at this point I'd take anything. Cos I fuckin' stood there and fought for this city and this stupid planet with all of you, and all I got to prove it is this crummy cell room."

Tatsu mulls over his words. She can't deny their validity. He has a point. He's brash and rude and deserves to be notched down a peg, but he _was_ on her team. Still might be. 

"I will talk to Flag," she says uncertainly. She's not sure she can do anything. She's on thin ice as it is. Agent Waller doesn't particularly trust her. 

"Ya will?" he asks and his voice grows unctuous and cloying again.

"I will _try_."

"Sweetheart, remind me to kiss you when I get out."

 

She ignores his tepid joke. He makes light of their alliance. I's just his way. But he knows...he knows about her husband. He has seen her pray to him. He has seen her cry into her sword. The memory feels like a bucket of cold water. She straightens herself up. 

"I'd rather not remind you."

He stares at her for a moment too long. "When are you coming to see me again?"

She folds her arms, withdrawing herself from him. "If I fix your...situation, you will know."

"Aw, that's not an answer, luv. How do I know you won't just forget about me?" he teases, drawing out the words obscenely.

Tatsu wonders why she finds him the least bit tolerable. He is so different from everything and everyone she has known. Perhaps that's why.

"I don't forget easily and I will do as I promised. Goodbye, then."

She turns awkwardly to leave, because she's always been terrible at departures, but he calls her back, and his voice sounds less sure than before.

She returns to the shaft.

"Yes?"

"Ye can't just leave like that. Not without saying proper goodbye."

"I said goodbye -"

"Take off your mask."

She blanks. "What?"

"Never seen you without it, luv. If I die here today or tomorrow, which is very likely, mind you, I'd like to see yer face."

_You have seen me without it_ , she wants to say. He was there, staring with the rest of them when she was crying before the big battle. But...actually, the memory isn't quite true. He _hadn't_ looked. He had turned his face away when she had cried.

And now she feels stupid again. She can't ask him why. Why he hadn't looked then. Why he wants to look now. Why is she still here? 

He comes closer to the shaft until his breath is almost hitting her face. His eyes seem to pry her mask off by sheer will. She feels naked almost. Trapped under his gaze. 

But no, the mask is still there.

She takes a step back.

"You will not die. Today or tomorrow," she assures him formally. And he will not, not on her watch. No one else needs to die. No one. 

He chuckles wryly. "I'll be waitin' then."

She turns and walks away _fast_ , faster than she ought to. Her feet take her far away, but her mind is circling that small shaft, wondering why she can't let it go. 

But at least now she has a new mission. Yes, that is what it is. Nothing more.


	2. fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place during the movie, around the time they're facing off the Enchantress.

_This is what your lives could be...if you joined me_ , the Enchantress whispered into their minds, warping their sense of reality. It didn't feel like they were hiding behind the columns anymore, waiting to strike. It felt like they were floating far away from the violence and bloodshed and everything was warm and safe. 

Deadshot and Harley and Flag had dropped their weapons and their eyes were wide with a vision they alone could see.

But soon, George saw it too.

He was on a yacht in the middle of the ocean and there was no cloud in the sky. Cash was raining down on him from above, and a pair of hot twenty-year old twins had their arms around his torso. They each sported a sparkling horn on their foreheads and their skin was bubblegum pink. He was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle and there was a plate of tortillas and dip in front of him. Perfect fantasy by his standards. Well, maybe if the Enchantress had included one of those Shih Tzu dogs too...they were hilarious and adorable, to boot. 

But he was distracted when he heard sniffing next to him. 

Katana was clutching at thin air, her mask damp with tears. She was babbling in Japanese. All he could understand was that she was calling for someone. He had an inkling who that person was.

" _Please_..." was the only thing he made out of her feverish nonsense. 

George tried to get back to his yacht. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He'd never been with human-unicorns before. 

But Katana kept crying next to him. It was distracting. Because instead of seeing unicorn twins wrapped around him, he saw the little warrior sobbing on his shoulder. 

"Aw, shit."

He grabbed her firmly, trying to shake her out of it. He took her head in his hands. 

"Oi, look at me. Look at me! It ain't real, Katana! It's just a stupid fantasy! Your husband's _dead_ , all right? You think _I_ deserve a yacht? The IRS would confiscate it immediately! The Enchantress is just messing with us!"

But she didn't seem to be listening to him. She was in some sort of trance. She looked at him differently now. Like she could actually stand him. 

"Maseo..." she trailed off absently, and before he knew what was happening, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him down, until his mouth connected with _her_ mouth and - 

_Aw, shit._

She was kissing him. Because she thought he was her dead husband. It did not get more fucked up than this. But he wouldn't have been in this shitty squad if he was not a total dirtbag. So he took advantage of the situation. He kissed her back.  _What_? It wasn't his fault she tasted good. It wasn't his fault he liked a lady who took initiative, even if that lady was currently under a spell. And it wasn't his fault his bear arms fit perfectly around her tiny figure. 

And...and it wasn't his fault that it felt nice to be wanted, for once. 

_Aw, shit shit._

The fucking Enchantress had double-played him. He heard her voice in his ear.  _I could make it so that she always sees her husband in you._

Fuck. That wouldn't be so bad. He opened her mouth and tasted her tongue...and the tears running down her face...

Reluctantly, he pulled away from the kiss. "Katana...I'm not Maseo. He's...probably not a deadbeat with a police record."

Katana blinked in confusion. She still kept her arms around his neck. "Maseo," she insisted. He could almost see her expression under the mask. She was determined to make it real. She was a stubborn little thing. 

"No, luv. Not Maseo. Wake up. Come on, sweetheart. Wake up."

He reached for her waist and pulled out her sword from its hilt. When Katana saw her reflection there, the spell was broken. She stepped away from him.

"What...what happened?"

George scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "You were out of it, luv."

She gripped the sword hard. "What do you mean?"

Thank _Christ_ she didn't actually remember. She would've cut him in half. 

"Uh, you were just talking about some bloke Maseo."

" _Oh."_ She looked down embarrassed.

He couldn't help touching her one more time. He reached out and lifted her chin with his fingers.

"Come on, let's kick some Enchantress arse, shall we?"

That seemed to get her back on track.

She nodded her head wearily and, maybe he was wrong or imagining things, but she _almost_ brushed her hand against his as she ran into the fray. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments and kudos! I'll get to them soon!


	3. drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place after the movie, and chronologically, after chapter 1: mask  
> Thank you for your patronage, enjoy!

They talked about getting drinks.

Well,  _he_  made a very inappropriate remark during a life and death situation. 

But it's stuck with them, this absurd idea that they'd still be alive and willing to partake in alcohol after everything was said and done. 

Boomerang sets two plastic cups on the square plastic table in the middle of his cell. 

Tatsu perches herself warily on the kiddie stool he offered her. 

"What is that...stuff?" she asks, eyeing the plastic bottle in his hand. It's transparent and clear. She thinks it may be vodka, but the smell is enough to burn off her nostrils.

"Ever had moonshine, sweetheart?"

"No."

"Well, today's your lucky day."

"...does it have to be today?" she asks with a wince. She can’t outright refuse him, but she's never been much of a drinker, and that stuff looks illegal. 

"Is the tough warrior ninja afraid of getting drunk?"

Tatsu picks up the cup. "I am not a ninja."

He shrugs with a grin. "You're definitely something."

She closes her eyes, pinches her nose, and downs the contents in one swig. 

It's horrible. Her throat is burning. She desperately wants to cough it all out, but she doesn't want to look like a fool. She grips the edge of the table. There are small tears at the corner of her eyes.

He laughs heartily. Of course he's enjoying himself. 

"Looks like you need another one."

He pours her more of that poison. Tatsu inhales deeply. "What about you?"

His cup has been empty so far. She doesn't think it's fair.

Boomerang taps his chin. "Ah-ah. _Professional_   boozers don't bother with intermediaries." 

He grabs the moonshine bottle and downs at least a quarter of it in one impressive gulp. 

"Whoa," she whispers. 

He wipes his chin gruffly and takes a dramatic bow. "And that, ladies and gents, is the extent of my résumé.”

Tatsu stifles a giggle.

His display should be more grotesque than amusing, but Captain Boomerang somehow manages both.

She empties her second shot, harmful as this may be for her bloodstream. Let it never be said she’s a coward.

This time, the burning sensation doesn't _cripple_   her senses. But it's still terrible. 

"Why do you drink this?" she asks, wrinkling her nose. She can feel the beginning of a headache. 

"Don't tell me you don't like it," he drawls sarcastically. "Here, have another -"

"No, please no!" she begs, covering her cup with her palm. 

"Hehee, here's a lesson from the Captain. You're not supposed to  _enjoy_  alcohol. _Liking_ alcohol is for twats and children. And children who are twats.”

Tatsu leans forward a little. "Is that true?”

“Of course not!” he barks with a laugh. “They don’t give me anything better to drink in this place. You think I wouldn’t ask for a Merlot if I could?”

Katana makes a face, but her lips twitch a little against her will.

“I guess I could have another small –”

"That's the spirit!" he cheers and pours copiously into her cup.

She regrets almost everything about what she’s currently doing and whom she’s doing it with. But she swallows down his disgusting moonshine. She's been through worse things.

Now she is  _definitely_   feeling that headache. She slams the cup down and puts her head in her hands. Oh, this is going to be nasty. 

Boomerang has taken the only other chair in the room, turned it around and sat himself across from her. He takes another big swig straight from the bottle, then he pours some of it into his cup and drains  _that_  too.

Tatsu is definitely feeling a little buzzed. She lifts her chin. "When you said...we should have drinks...I did not think it would be like this."

"Me neither. I was hopin' for some mood music and some candles."

She almost snorts into her cup. Everything is suddenly funnier. " _Candles_."

He leans forward with a smile. "I don't know, what do you girls like? Bath salts? Rose petals? Those really smelly sticks they use in church?"

Katana shakes her head. "I never had bath salts." She feels warm and woozy under her mask. 

"Oooh, they're the best, we've got to try them sometime," he grins with delight, and maybe it's the word "sometime" used in relation to yet another ambiguous get-together that makes it all click together in her head.

_Rose petals...candles…_

She has seen the movies. She knows what it means.

" _This is not a date!_ " 

He stares at her as if she’s a total nut. She realizes, a moment later, that she's yelled at him in Japanese.

"I...this is not a date," she reiterates more calmly in English.

If he looks a little bit disappointed, he doesn't let it show. "Yeah, no, course not. Just a friendly check-in with your friendly convict. How about another friendly shot?"

She lets him fill her cup more out of guilt than anything. It's ridiculous, she shouldn't be feeling guilty. He's a grown man. He should know she cannot afford to get involved with anyone, especially someone like him.

She tilts her head back and makes herself ingest the vile liquid. It's like a sick game of truth and dare she never agreed to play. 

"Thanks, by the way. Don't know if I said that already." He's got the bottle to his lips but he is looking straight at her and his eyes are dead sober. 

Tatsu nods in acknowledgement.

"Who  _did_  you cut in half to get me this place?" Boomerang inquires with a teasing smile. 

"I told you...I made a convincing case to Flag and Waller," she says dismissively, not wanting to dwell on the details of his relocation. Safe to say, she's got a lot of work cut out for herself in the following year. 

His new cell looks like a miniature apartment. Better than her old place in Osaka, which is saying something. The important thing, though, is that he is not in solitary confinement anymore.

She'll make do with the extra months of thankless assignments. She always has. 

"I owe ya one, sweetheart," he says after a pause. 

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do. And I'm gonna make good on it when I get out. Unlike...y' know, all the other times I didn't."

Tatsu feels queasy and groggy and like she's about to throw up. She grits her teeth and tries to chase away the alcohol fumes. "You have betrayed a lot of your...uh, your uh… what's the name...parents...parks...particles…"

Boomerang bursts into guffaws. "Oh, luv, you're drunk, aren't you?"

" _Partners!"_ she slams her fist triumphantly. "You’ve betrayed a lot of your p-partners."

"There you go! You got it in the end," he squeezes her arm in encouragement. 

"Well, you  _did_ ," she reiterates stubbornly.

"Looks like someone's read my file. Find anything juicy?"

"Is that why you drink a lot?" she asks, teetering slightly on her kiddie stool.

The question catches him off-guard. Then again, she is known for her rather merciless style, which apparently only gets worse when she's drunk. 

"...what's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs. "People like you tend to hate themselves."

"People like  _me_."

"People with vices they cannot - " she suppresses a burp " - control."

His jaw locks against his will. For once, he doesn't know how to respond. He is a man of improvisation and quick fixes, and she's just cut off his branch. 

He smiles, although the mirth doesn’t really reach his eyes. “You sure get deep when you’re wasted, luv.”

“I’m _not_   wasted.”

And to prove it, she yanks the bottle out of his hand and presses its mouth to her lips.

"Shit, you don't want to do that, Kat -"

Too late.

 

He has to hold her hair so she can throw up in his toilet. It's kind of surreal. 

"Here, hold -" she mumbles frantically, and she pulls off her mask and hands it to him hastily. He doesn't get to see much of her face as she's hugging the toilet again.

Another long string of vomiting follows her words, and he caresses her back in sympathy. "Guess you're a lightweight."

The guards barge in quickly after, demanding to know what happened to Flag's trained assassin. 

She waves an arm at them and sniffles, still very much attached to Boomerang's toilet. 

 

Later that night, he's sitting up in bed, playing with her mask. She left it behind by accident. Well, when they escorted her out of his cell she was barely walking, so it couldn't be helped. 

But he likes to think she left it behind on purpose.

He doesn't sniff it, he's not  _that_  big of a pervert. But he likes touching it, likes knowing it's such a big deal to her. It's surprisingly soft and flexible. He wonders if that's what her skin feels like - 

And he stops there.

 _Don't be a fuckin_ _idiot. She think you're a bum._

And why is he thinking about her so much? She's not even his type. She's kind of a dork, actually. 

He hangs the mask over his bed.

 

 

Maybe later he does sniff it.

It predictably smells a little bit like vomit.

_Shit._

_I like her._


	4. t-shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place a few weeks after chapter 3 (drinks). The team is out on a new mission.

“Did I tell you it’s my birthday?” he screams in her ear.

Tatsu slams the sword back into its hilt as they chase through the rain towards the detonated reactor where, _hopefully_ , there will be more back-up waiting for them.

Amanda Waller has predictably sent them into the storm again, although this time, she’s come up with the brilliant plan of splitting them up into smaller teams. Her team is comprised of Captain Boomerang and Killer Croc. It’s…not ideal.

For one thing, they’ve lost sight of Croc who crawled down under when the first explosions went off, and now they’re being battered with a barrage of bullets _and_ a violent downpour. Why does it _always_ rain when they’re on a deadly mission? She’s completely soaked and exhausted and she really _hates_ Flag for leaving her in charge. She can hardly see where she’s going; it’s almost convenient that Boomerang keeps shouting in her ear to keep her coordinated.

“Did you hear me? About the birthday?”

“Now’s not the time! Get down!”

They both duck as a giant crane flies over their heads and lands with a horrible thud behind them.  Debris fills their mouths until they choke. Another goddamn bomb went off. She can see the henchmen aiming their rifles.

Boomerang is already trying to get up, and he offers his hand for her to take, but _damn_ – she feels a searing pain in her left leg and she stumbles.

Tatsu rips the fabric around her knee in a panic. It’s only a small cut. She was grazed by something sharp. It could get infected fast, but she doesn’t have time to consider that. She needs to move. They need to get out of firing range.

 “Here, let me, luv –”

A bullet flies so close to his head that she has to pull him down by the lapels of his grimy coat.

“Careful!”

They roll down together again as the bullets keep coming. They can’t do anything but crawl under the rubble. He instinctively covers her with his bear-like body until all she can see and smell is him. He doesn't seem to mind the danger, or at least he's not fully aware of it. He’s effectively acting as human shield. She doesn’t like it, she wants to switch places. But another handful of debris falls on them like snowflakes and he cradles her head.

“George.”

She’s never said his name before, more out of a sense of taboo than anything. She would never call her boss, “Rick”. But she _did_ throw up in the Aussie’s toilet. Not a very good time to remember that. They’re only inches apart. His breath – beer fumes, mostly – falls on her face.

“George,” she calls again.

He raises his head and looks at her like she’s clearly lost her senses. Why else would she call him _George_?

“It’s all right, luv, we’re not gonna die here.”

 “Do you trust me?” she asks in a whisper that only he can hear.

 He nods, unsure.  

“Do not move.”

She’s not known as Katana for nothing. There is no one on this planet who can deliver death with swifter precision.  She slips the sword from her hilt. It’s a matter of inches and wrist movement. Should her hand shake, she’d cut George too.

Her hand doesn’t shake.

He first feels the hot blood pouring down his scalp and only _after_ that, does he hear the swift hiss of a blade circling the air above him.

She presses one hand into his chest and suddenly, she’s straddling him. He finds himself under her, watching her cut a second henchman from neck to groin. She releases the sword and turns the blade upside down as she catches a third reckless fool straight in the eye.

George tries not to scream like a baby. She’s already killed three blokes and she hasn’t even gotten up. It’s half-mesmerizing, half-terrifying. The little assassin closes her eye as the sword absorbs the souls and turns the men to dust.   

The bullets are still coming, though, so he snaps out of it because while this position is pretty damn enviable, he doesn’t plan on dying in it. He grips Katana’s waist and hauls them both out of the debris.

“Can you walk, luv?”

She mutters a halfhearted yes and she even takes a couple of confident steps forward, only to stagger on her damaged leg and curse in Japanese.

“Come on, potty mouth,” he grunts, not leaving her time to argue as he hoists her over his shoulder. She’s light in his arms, but her sword is releasing fucking _steam_. He thanks the stars he’s not on her enemy list.

Killer Croc finally decides to make an appearance again as he rips into crowd of henchmen like they’re fresh sardines.

 _Wanker likes to make a dramatic entrance_ , George thinks, grateful for his last-minute intervention, but highly annoyed, because it’s his bloody _birthday_ and he’s kind of touching Katana’s ass right now (he swears it’s accidental; his hand keeps slipping down as he runs), and he _really_   would’ve liked for it to happen under different circumstances.

They make it to the chopper in the nick of time, and when he releases her, she throws him a look like she knows exactly where his hand has been.

 _Worth it_ , he thinks.

 

 

Back at the compound, he lies on his ragged mattress chewing on a chicken leg. Yeah, he already had his dinner with the other rudderless patsies, but he’s feeling peckish and it _is_ his birthday. He deserves a treat. He knows they’ll be pissed in the morning when they find out he stole – no, no, _took_ – the whole chicken from the fridge. But honestly, if tomorrow is a repeat of today, he needs his strength. He can hear Deadshot’s snores through the wall. Hehe. So the smooth asshole does have _one_ flaw. He could be a dick and turn on his TV really loud and wake him up, but he doesn’t want Amanda Waller all up in his business again. This joint is nicer than his cell, but he knows it’s only temporary. When the mission is over, it’s back to prison, as usual. He almost wishes they’d lose a fight or two, so he could enjoy nightly snacks more often.

There’s a knock on his door. _Oh shite._ Someone’s noticed the chicken. But it’s three AM in the morning! What kind of anal retentive –

A small figure slips in and closes the door behind her.

George gets up and turns on the light and sees Katana, of all people, standing in front of him in a large trench coat.

“Jesus, sweetheart, scared me half to death. What are you doin’ here?”

She keeps looking at the floor instead of his face and she’s all fidgety and _nervous_.

“Is this about the chicken?”

She shakes her head. “I – uh, thank you for covering for me today.”

George scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, that’s what teammates do, or so I’ve heard.”

“Yes. But I still appreciate it. You put your safety at risk for me.”

He tries to play it cool, like it was all in the line of duty, although he most _absolutely_ wants to hear more about her…appreciation. “Oh, I did nothing.”

“Modesty isn’t your forte,” she replies with a small smile.

“What _is_ my forte then? My rippling physique? My brilliant mind? My killer sideburns?” He’s going to milk this cow till it’s dry.

She heaves a sigh. “I already regret this.”

She unfolds the trench coat and lets it glide down her arms. Any kind of coherent thought leaves his brain in record time. His jaw slackens in a perfect rendition of a fish out of water.

“I heard you like these…ponies. Happy birthday, Captain Boomerang.”

She’s standing in front of him only in garters and a sparkling unicorn T-shirt.

_Holy fucking shit._

Someone needs to pinch him.

“Harley lent them me the outfit. I hope it’s the right thing.”

His knees give out a little. He needs to remember to thank that crazy broad later. Katana looks like a fucking dream. It’s even hotter that she’s still wearing her mask.

He reaches out with a trembling hand and fingers the clasp on her garters. He can’t believe she did this. He should tell her it's his birthday every day.

He wants her to straddle him again; he wants to see her deliver swift justice while wearing that goddamn _perfect_ T-shirt. He makes a grab for her thighs, because damn it, he's _weak_ , and all he wants is to take that sparkling unicorn to town, but Katana pushes him back with a light kick of her heel.

He lands on the mattress.

“Only watch, not touch.”

George groans and curses every single deity known to man.

He knows he won’t be able to sleep after she’s gone. She’s set him up with spank material for at least a solid year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and thanks a lot for all your comments and kudos!


	5. date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place a few weeks after chapter 4. Date night!

 

"Whoa. You actually left your sword at home? Shite, that's making me nervous."

Tatsu frowned, fingering the cotton napkin in her lap. Was this not what people did on dates? Or did one carry a lethal weapon to a romantic dinner? Of course, "romantic" was not applicable to their situation. Not entirely. It did not cover all the blind-spots. 

"You brought your boomerang, then?" she asked, brushing off invisible pieces of fluff from her dress. 

"Well, not the one made of steel, heh," he teased, leaning forward suggestively.

A few months ago, she might have gagged or got up and left. Now, she only rolled her eyes. "I can't remember the last time I had Italian."

George smiled broadly. He could have added, "You're having Australian tonight, luv" but that would have been pushing it. He wasn't _that_ crass. And he talked big, but he'd barely gotten to second base with her.

He reached for his glass of wine. Katana had ordered the bottle. An Argentinian Merlot. She'd remembered. He felt rather touched that their first unofficial date had stuck. Probably hard not to; she _had_ got monumentally shit-faced.

He felt a little bit uncomfortable in the shirt and jacket, though. He'd discarded his sturdy ramshackle coat for something more presentable. Not that he'd never worn fancy clothes before, but he wondered if he didn't look like a fool. Like he was cross-dressing or something. 

He'd shaved too, which she had received with mild surprise.

"Oh. I can actually see most of your jaw now," she had remarked neutrally. 

Katana had doled up too, but this time she hadn't taken pointers from Harley because she was wearing a very nice but very proper little black dress with sleeves and everything. It reached down below her knees in a very elegant ensemble. It was not exactly heart-racing, but who gave a shit? Katana had  renounced the mask for one night! She was bare-faced, thank the stars. He could finally look into those pretty doe-eyes and stare at those pink lips without feeling like a pervert. He'd caught glances of her under the mask plenty of times before, but she'd either been crying, or wiping sweat from her nose, or shouting some battle cry while most of her was covered in blood. And while he was _not_ proud that during that last occasion he had sprouted a boner, he still appreciated her showing him her face. 

For a deadly assassin, her expression was so candid, so shamefully open and vulnerable that he was beginning to understand why she wore the mask so much. It wasn't just ritual, it wasn't just anonymity. It was part of a performance, part of her _pizzazz_. 

That's not to say her face was full of emotion, far from it. In fact, he had no fucking clue _what_ she was feeling right now, but she had a way of always mirroring what she was _thinking_. Like, you could tell she was thinking about those _other_ times she'd had Italian. George wondered if those times had been in the company of her husband. 

He wasn't jealous or anything. He was pretty sure he'd come up short anyway. I mean, who could compete with a dead guy? He also knew that if she could pick, she'd choose to have dinner with Maseo, but you know what? She was here with him of her own volition, so clearly he was doing _something_ right.

 Ugh, he really wanted to kick himself for some of these soppy thoughts. If his old mates could hear him now...

The food arrived, carried over by a plump, balding waiter who spoke no Italian and was in fact Polish. So much for an authentic feel. He deposited the lobsters in front of Tatsu and the linguini in front of George. Neither dish looked extremely appetizing, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Amanda Waller and co. wouldn't have allowed them to go out at some proper swanky locale where they served oysters in a special silver dish and there was a bowl filled with Evian water to wet your hands. It was already a miracle they were being allowed to frequent the more modest bodegas around town. Of course, you could never be sure _which_ of the other patrons in the restaurant were Waller's agents. She liked to keep a close watch. 

But Tatsu thought it was "very good news"that they were letting him mingle with normal society outside of prison. 

"They must think your attitude is improving," she opined, picking up one of the lobsters and shelling it with deft but messy fingers. The crust flew in all directions, leaving small dents in her thumbs. But she was not going to use the knife. It seemed she was making an effort not to use any weapon tonight. 

"Mm. Come to think of it, we passed two Jaguars and a Lexus on our way out here and I only felt compelled to break into the Lexus. But that's just on principle," he grinned.

Tatsu smiled uneasily. "That sounded like a joke, but I think you probably mean it."

George twirled the linguini around his fork. "Say...ever stolen a car, luv?"

"I stole a bike once for an errand, but I brought it back when I was done."

"Pff, how is that stealing? And bicycles don't count. I'm asking if you've ever felt the rush that comes with driving away some prick's embezzled Volvo."

Tatsu frowned. "Why do you assume it's embezzled? Maybe he really earned it."

"Riiight. And I'm Queen Elizabeth in her petticoat. But seriously, we should steal a car sometime and drive out of the city." 

She raised a critical brow. "You realize you are talking about deserting."

George pressed a hand to his chest. " _Moi_? I was only thinking of eloping together." 

"Eloping," she murmured, tasting the word between her lips. Her English wasn't always impeccable, but she was certain she'd got the meaning right. "As in, running away to get married?"

Digger choked on a mouthful of pasta. He reached for the glass of wine. It was sort of comical. 

"Er, I didn't mean it like - which is to say - I wouldn't _hate_ the idea, you're a great girl, Tats, and you deserve a good -"

She smiled. "Relax. I'm messing with you." She wasn't, but her linguistic pitfalls could come in handy sometimes. 

George laughed. "Got me there." 

It went on fairly well after that. No more wedding references. No more talk of petty crime. No, they moved on to number of people they'd killed. He wanted to settle a score.

 

 

"Unfortunately, I believe the number on my end would come up to seventy."

"Eighty-five, HA! In your face, sweetheart. And I don't wield a magical sword, mind you, I just got this set of brawns." 

"I can't believe you're proud of something like that."

"You're just sour I killed more people than you."

"Of course I'm not! But it is very bad manners to _gloat_ about it."

"Oh, you really are a sore loser, luv."

"I did my killings in the line of duty! Not because I wanted to! And how do you even know your number is eighty-five?"

"I keep count, of course."

"I don't believe you."

"Want me to show you?" 

 

 

Tatsu would later regret saying yes. 

 

 

They had to leave the table and head for the bathroom so he could _really_ show her. 

She knew how it looked. Two people out on a date, sneaking off to the restroom like teenagers.

But George only wanted to show her his "85 SKZ ("suckerz", he explained) DEAD" tattoo on his left upper thigh. 

 

 

"The eight is smudged. It could just as well be " _5_ SKZ DEAD"," she argued stubbornly.

"The eight's not smudged, it's just a little old, I mean it's been a while since I was thirteen."

"That is when you made your first kill?" she asked, staring shyly at his boxers. His pants were pulled down his ankles. Oddly, she didn't find the coarse black hair on his legs that unappealing.

 George ran a quick hand through his hair. "First one was an accident." 

"Oh. My first kill was my husband's brother."

He doubled, his eyes widening in shock. "Jesus, what the fuck -"

"Long family drama," she sighed, shaking her head. "Maseo was killed by his brother. So I returned the favor. Your tattoo proves nothing, by the way." 

He really couldn't keep up with her abrupt change of pace sometimes. 

"Yeah, well, I _could_ question your number too." He paused. "But I won't, cuz you're fuckin' terrifying. _Shit_. Your husband's brother, that had to be a bitch -"

"Could we talk about something else?"

 

 

Yeah, he could do that. He still had his pants around his ankles, but he shuffled forward and he grabbed the side of her face. He meant it more as a comforting gesture, but then again, he also _really_ wanted to touch her face without her mask.

She seemed to respond well to it, because she didn't draw away. With most ladies this wasn't necessarily positive feedback, but Katana was different. Her skin was not soft, but it was smooth and cool to the touch. He rubbed his coarse thumb against her cheek. 

"Pretty. You've got pretty skin." 

Fuck, could someone just take away his ability to speak?

Tatsu parted her lips. "' _85_ could also be the mark of a year. In fact, I'm pretty sure you were born in -" 

Clever little assassin. He pulled her head towards him and kissed her. She tasted like lobster and wine. A truly aphrodisiac combination. Her lips molded against his and moved of their own accord, which emboldened him to try and stick his tongue inside her mouth. What? It was a classic move. 

This was way better than that _other_ time he had kissed her, because back then they had been under a fucking spell and she had whispered her dead husband's name against his lips. She was kissing him differently now. As Maseo's hallucination, she had kissed him reverently and with lots of anguish. Now, thankfully, there was no anguish.

There _was_ a bit of pain, however, as she ended up biting his tongue. Which he rather liked. Her deft little fingers also ended up at the back of his neck, sending nice little shocks down his spine. He _really_ relished the height difference which made her stand up on her toes. Her bum stuck out deliciously from her prim black dress. One of his hands landed slyly in its vicinity, ready to pounce.

He was only human, after all. 

Katana shifted forward and her hips connected with his bare skin and boxers and - shit, yeah, he still had his pants around his ankles. 

"Lemme just...pull these back up, luv."

She made a disapproving sound at the back of the throat. "Leave them."

"You enjoy my humiliation?" he hummed.

"Very much." 

 Well, she was the boss.

He pressed her into the stall door and continued to devour her tiny wine-stained lips, even if he felt a breeze below the waist. He wanted to level the playing field, though, so his hand skimmed her thigh and reached under her dress, cupping her bare ass with as much restraint as he was capable of. Gods, he really wanted to pull down her panties too, but once again, he wasn't _that_ crass. Or was he? He ran his knuckles against the fabric of her underwear. 

Katana shrieked lightly into his mouth, but she didn't pull away.

Her kissing became more angry, more passionate. She bit down on his lip and he responded with due enthusiasm.

But Tatsu was properly pissed, so she reached behind him and squeezed his own ass. With her tiny assassin hand.

Holy fucking shit. Their hip bones collided. He felt electricity running between them in short, delirious waves. This was exactly what those Burt Reynolds movies promised you but never delivered. 

I mean, fuck, Katana was squeezing his _ass_. 

 

 

When they broke apart for air, she said, "well, I didn't know what else to do."

 

George Harkness really needed to have a serious talk with himself. He was in danger of falling in love with someone who thought stealing a _bike_  that one time was hardcore.

What a fucking cosmic joke.  

 

 

The rest of their dinner-date went fine, but it was bound to be anti-climactic after he'd been manhandled by a tiny Japanese warrior, whom he pretty much adored now, irrespective of the number of people she'd killed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this tiny story's still getting traction, thanks a lot u guys!


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